Thanks For the Wings
by JoBethMegAmy. my homegirls
Summary: Basically, a short fic based on the film "It's a Wonderful Life." After donating her kidney, Maura is left feeling unwanted by her family and like an annoyance to her only friend, who is wrapped up with her own matters. She's even struggling at work. Questioning her purpose in life, Maura is given a chance to see how the world would be different if she had never been born.
1. The Chance

**A/N**: Hi there, everyone. First of all, **don't worry**. This isn't going to be a crazy long fic - I've already got two of those brewing, I know. But this is a story I've been meaning to write for a while, and **it will be a short one** (somewhere between 5 and 10 chapters). It's holidayish, so I wanted to get it started. As is stated in the summary, **it's based on the film "It's a Wonderful Life." **Yes, this is problematic when your George Bailey is Maura Isles, because it's sort of a fantasy, isn't it? If you want to read, just be ready to go with that flow.

**This chapter has a trigger warning**: **(thoughts of)** **suicide. **It will not be touched on again in the remaining chapters.

* * *

It didn't take a good eye, or even a particularly sober one, to know that this woman didn't belong here. She was clothed in a tailored red dress and sleek brown leather boots, her long jacket draped over the back of her chair at the bar: all said, her ensemble had likely cost more than a month's rent on this place. Her posture was perfect as she clasped her glass of beer with both hands, drinking it down slowly. Nobody was with her. She wasn't saving a seat. She didn't even appear entirely conscious of her surroundings.

"Hey, there. What's a class act like you doing in a place like this?"

Maura didn't realize she was the one being addressed until the man gently touched her forearm. Immediately she scowled, and when she looked up at him, he only laughed. The beer on his breath was overwhelming; she scrunched her eyes shut and turned away, shaking her head.

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said, rubbing her arm now. "Doesn't do for a pretty girl like you to come to a place like this alone. Our little dive. Why don't you come over to my—"

"Go."

"—table and we'll see if I can't—"

"I said _go!_" Maura shouted hoarsely.

In jerking her arm away from the man's grasp, her drink sloshed out and doused him. He looked much more outraged than the situation called for; he yelled a few choice unsavory words in her direction before stomping back to his table. Maura ordered another drink. Nobody bothered her.

Nobody except the voices that were getting louder and louder inside her head as she continued to drink.

"_Stop being such a whiny pain in the ass!"_

_ "What the hell do you mean you haven't got an I.D. yet? You're the medical examiner! This is your job! What, should we go get Pike? See if he can help you?"_

_ "Thanks, Maura, I think I can take it from here. Jane, let's go inside."_

_ "Hello; you've reached Constance Isles. I can't come to the phone at the moment, but if you'd leave your name and your number, I will be sure to get back to you as soon as possible." _

_ "Hello; this is Dr. Hope Martin, I'm sorry to have missed your call! If this is about an appointment, please call my office to schedule. Otherwise, leave me your name and number, and I will get back to you."_

Nothing was going right. Nothing.

"Hey, sister. You all right?" With a sniff, Maura looked up and realized the bartender was talking to her. "You want I should call you a cab?"

"Did you know?" she asked. "According to the American Society of, um… of Nephrology, patients who've undergone a kidney transplant have a higher mortality rate if they are moderate drinkers? Not abstainers or heavy drinkers …somewhere moderate, that means somewhere in-between. I just donated a kidney. I'm not supposed to drink. No, no, it's all right now. The transplant team said it was safe now. That's why I'm here."

"Sounds rough," grunted the bartender.

"Mm-hm. Yes. Very. It was for my sister, my little baby half-sister. She needed a kidney, and I said all right. So I did it, I did the surgery, even though she hates me and my mother—our mother hates me. They _really _hate me. So do you know—you haven't even …_I _haven't even heard a thing from them. Not a thank-you card or note or email, or a text or a… anything. Not anything.

"So I thought okay! Okay, that's fine. I didn't have them before in my life and I don't need them now, do I? No. I don't. So I called my mother, my _real _mother, and she hasn't gotten back to me. Nobody gets back to me. My best friend doesn't want to listen to my problems because that's all I am, you know …I'm one big problem. Nothing comes easy with me. Nothing is pleasant or nice because that's just not my life. All I do is bother her with my problems when she's got more important things, like Casey and all I'm doing is screwing up my job—which screws up _her _job—and my family would rather I wasn't here at all, and… here I am."

Somewhere in there she had started to weep, but didn't seem to realize it until a tear trickled into her mouth. She sputtered at the taste, and within moments, was slumped over the bar, sobbing. It wasn't like her to come to a place like this at all. Her mind had drifted while driving home, and she'd gotten turned around, and this place looked warm and comfortable. It looked like a place to try and forget the fact that she was a drain on everyone she came into contact with.

"It w—it wouldn't be so bad," she cried, her tears and voice muffled somewhat by the arm she had half-buried her face into. "I can live with that. I can live with nobody choosing me. Nobody, not my parents or my adoptive parents, or Ian or anyone. I'm not as important. That's all right. I know I'm insignificant. We're _all _insignificant, but at least some of us do better than others at changing something for good. What've I done? I don't help anybody. I can't help anybody. I…"

She lost her point, and banging her fist against the bar didn't bring it back. The bartender reached over and gave her arm a light shake. "I'm gonna call you a cab, miss. You just sit tight."

Within ten minutes, Maura was being driven home, her immaculate car standing out in the dive's grungy parking lot like a pack of snowflakes on a grimy window. After paying the driver, she stumbled into her house and fell into bed without changing her clothes. When she woke up the next morning, it was with a clearer head than she had been expecting. That isn't to say her head didn't ache, though; there was actually a small bruise on her forehead from where it had hit the bar last night.

But what got to her most this morning was the silence.

It was a quarter to six, and Angela wasn't awake yet. She usually came in for breakfast. Maura groggily removed her clothes and was about to get in the shower before she thought a jog (or perhaps a walk) might help perk her up a bit. It would at least raise her metabolic rate, which would help her clear herself of toxins associated with metabolizing alcohol.

She changed into some sweats and a windbreaker, pulled her hair back, and went out.

The neighborhood seemed strangely quiet, although that may have been because it had apparently snowed in the night. No one was out. And yet, the streets were paved. Maura decided not to think about it too much, and started to walk. At first there was something nice about being alone out here, but it quickly became a bit eerie. She knew she was simply being paranoid, but it was as if the block—and the next few after it—had actively decided to shun her.

That got her thinking of all the events that had led to her excursion last night. How everything seemed to be piling up all at once against her.

You could only stack so many bricks before one of them started to fall, and the tower started to crash.

A piercing wind picked up, and Maura closed her eyes against it briefly. It was much colder out here than she'd thought it would be. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing near a small bridge. She'd passed by it many times on her drive home, but never actually walked over it. A river ran beneath it, not too deep, and Maura idly wondered where it went. She stopped dead in the center of it and folded her arms atop the rail, peering down.

It became rhythmic. Soothing and frightening at the same time. She wondered just how cold the water was as a large twig went coursing beneath the bridge.

_I am that twig_, she realized. _It takes a lot of twigs to make up a tree, but if one goes missing, nobody notices. Not even the tree. It's just there for decoration. It doesn't need to exist. And if it ceased to exist, well, so what? What would it matter? It's replaceable. Like me. I am replaceable. _

_ Who would care, really? _

_ I'm not even supposed to be here. I am not supposed to exist. I've seen my grave. Everyone would have been so much better off without my being here—maybe that's the answer. I wouldn't have burdened Hope with my reappearance in her life. She could've found another match for Cailin. The Isles would have been free to live how they wanted, instead of being burdened with a child they had never anticipated having. Ian wouldn't have wasted those years with me. _

_ Jane wouldn't have to deal with a whiny pain in the ass like me. She wouldn't have to deal with a naïve know-it-all who's afraid of people. Afraid of herself. _

_ So I was wrong. If I wasn't here, it _would _make a difference. A difference for the better_.

"Please, no."

Maura might have been startled, but the gentleness of the voice was oddly comforting. It made her feel warm, in a way she used to only associate with Jane's presence. That's why she was half-expecting to look up and see Jane there, even though it had been a man speaking.

He was about her height, but looked to be around twenty or thirty years her senior. His hair was gray and his face was wrinkled, and while he didn't carry a particularly distinguished air, there was something sweet about him. Maybe it was the quietness with which he was now approaching her, trying to appear friendly even though his face was covered with concern. Moving slowly, deliberately, he sidled up to the bridge, leaning against it a few feet down from Maura.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I said, 'please. No.'"

"No…what?"

He gave her a sad smile. "I saw the look on your face, young lady. Made me nervous about what you were aiming to do."

Maura knew she ought to be anxious, or maybe ashamed, but all she felt was a need to prove this man wrong. His tones were round and rich, like he had all day to talk about what he presumed to be her problems and was happy to discuss them with her—present concern notwithstanding.

"I was just thinking," she heard herself say.

"What about?"

"Oh, I suppose the sort of question most people find themselves facing at one point or another."

"Would that be the meaning of life?"

"Something like it. The meaning of _my _life, to be specific…if I may say so without sounding pretentious," she said with a rueful laugh.

He reached over and gently covered Maura's with his own. She instantly felt its warmth, and didn't pull away. She also didn't look him in the eye, although that was probably rude. She was experiencing the odd sensation of feeling comforted by his presence, yet afraid of it at the same time. Or rather, afraid of what he seemed to be able to intuit.

"You are worth something, you know," he said.

"How can you know that?" she countered. Her voice was quiet, and not accusatory. It merely sounded tired and defensive.

"There is a point to every creature's life, Maura."

"I…how do you know my name?"

"Ah. That's right. How rude of me not to introduce myself." He removed his hand from atop hers, extending her to it to shake. "You can call me Gerard."

"Gerard."

"Don't be alarmed, Maura, but I've known you since your birth." And somehow, Maura did not find this news alarming. "In fact, as your father asked me to keep an eye on your mother, you _could _say I knew you before you were born. When I say your father, I do mean Patrick Doyle. Not Desmond Isles."

This was the first time Maura felt inclined to shrink away. How could a man who seemed so genuine and sweet be associated with that monster?

"Don't get the wrong idea, Maura," he said, as if again reading her mind. "I'm not in Doyle's line of work. It's my job to try and protect people, particularly children. But given the nature of Doyle's occupation, it seemed necessary that I help him keep an eye on you. He's a busy man, you know."

"Yes, I've gotten than impression. I suppose it's his fault I'm here in the first place. His and Hope's." _What if his father had found out about me? What if he'd just killed me then? _

"I suppose you know Patrick was worried about his father coming to kill you," Gerard went on. "You _and _Hope. You live. Your life has such worth. I know it hasn't exactly been a bed of roses lately, but you must try to keep a more eternal perspective."

Anger had started to settle in. "Oh, I must? Go to hell, Gerard. You don't know half of what I've been going through."

"Oh, Maura. Don't go taking all that out on me. I know you don't mean it."

She sighed shortly. "You're right, I don't. I'm sorry."

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "You think everyone around you would be much better off if you'd never been born."

Hearing somebody else say it out loud made Maura feel like a billiard ball had been lodged in her throat. She swallowed heavily, and tears leaked out of her eyes without her will. "It's true," she croaked. "It's true, Gerard, and I'm sorry but you can't convince me otherwise."

He put a hand on her back. "What if I told you I could _prove _to you that the world would not be a better place without you?"

She tried to laugh. "I would love to see you try."

"Well, then. Let's not waste anymore time." The wind stopped, and Maura's headache suddenly ceased. She put a hand to her forehead in wonderment, and Gerard said, "Bruise is gone." Maura looked down and noticed the clip on her sweatpants was gone. "No cell phone. No I.D. There is no Maura Isles." Now, Maura actually did look alarmed. She shoved her hand desperately into her coat pocket, and Gerard calmly told her, "It's not there either, Maura."

"What's not?"

"The little note from Jane. The one that was in the box when she gave that coat to you last year around this time. She didn't write it because I'm telling you: _there is no Maura Isles_. Never was. You've been given a great gift, my dear: a chance to see what the world would be like without you."


	2. Testing

**A/N**: Hi guys! Thanks for the feedback/follows/favorites. I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks it would be interesting to explore Maura through this storyline. Thank you especially to **mnhooch **for pushing me to get on it! :)

**p.s. **For anyone curious, more about Gerard will be revealed later. Also, I picture him to be like Peter Falk. (you can thank "Angels Over Berlin" for that one, I guess)

* * *

There was a black Porsche in her driveway and Christmas lights on the windows. Two snowmen decorated the front lawn, and when Maura walked around towards the guest house, she saw a red dog house next to it. Loud, live music was blaring from the guest house, which seemed to have been converted into a space for a teenager's punk rock band to practice. For all of Maura's frightened confusion, Gerard remained frustratingly calm.

"What is this?" Maura asked him angrily.

"This is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby," Desmond replied. "And that is where their son and his band like to practice at very odd hours. I'd tell you the name of the band, but you seem like a fairly classy lady, so I'll refrain. Oh, and that dog house is for their Labrador, Bailey. Have you ever noticed it's impossible to hate a Labrador? Everyone's got their breeds they like, I know, and I've seen more than one fight start in a bar because someone called someone else's Chihuahua a rat or said a pug looked like it'd run straight-on into a brick wall. But you'll never find somebody who takes issue with a Labrador."

Maura wasn't listening; she had sat herself wearily down on the back porch, hand over her heart as it beat rapidly. "This isn't real," she said, voice hoarse and eyes closed. "Cardiac dysrhythmia, hyperhidrosis, labyrinthitis …"

"Excuse an old man's ignorance," Gerard said, sitting down next to her. "But what?"

"Irregular heartbeat, clammy hands, dizziness!" Maura spouted out the terms with clear annoyance. "And see? Look at that—irritability! I'm never irritable, it's not in my nature. These are all symptoms of a mental health crisis, a—a nervous breakdown. You're a hallucination. That's all this is."

"Perhaps," Gerard said in his same amiable tone. "You once said it yourself, Maura: the most powerful force on earth? Our thoughts. That's why I am here. Your thoughts—what you considered doing—were so powerful, they summoned me to your side. And now, combined, our thoughts are so powerful that we are seeing a world that has been wiped of your existence." He put his hand on her back, understanding that this was still difficult for her to comprehend. She was staring at her former guest house, and he guessed what she was thinking: "She doesn't live there, Maura. How could she? She doesn't know the Willoughbys."

"Then…then where _is _Angela? Are she and Frank still divorced?"

"Oh, of course they are. They didn't choose to get divorced because of you, Maura. There's nothing you could have done in that regard."

"So where is she?"

Gerard stood up, offering his arm to her. "I'll show you. It's probably best we get going, anyway. Mrs. Willoughby might be startled if she were to look out and see two strangers sitting on the back porch."

Once the remark registered, Maura glanced down and saw that they were leaving footprints in the snow. "So people can see us in this world?"

"Naturally!" Gerard said, surprised that she would even need to ask such a question.

"Then who am I?"

"I suppose you may go by Maura Isles, if you wish."

"You said that Maura Isles didn't exist in this world."

"For all intents and purposes, she does not. Her history does not exist. Your old friends, your family, they'll have no idea who you are talking about. There is no record of your existence, nothing to prove Maura Isles is a legitimate identity."

Trying not to sound too argumentative, Maura said, "So you're telling me that my own parents would have no idea who I am."

"I told you, Maura! Your presence has been wiped clean from this earth. Constance and Desmond Isles are living their lives as if you had never entered it."

"A happy thought for them, I'm sure," Maura couldn't help mumbling.

"Only because they do not know any better," Gerard pointed out. "I don't mean anything against your parents, Maura. But they are selfish people. You realize that, don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Perhaps that is not the right word. I know they care very much about charitable work, and education of the arts and things like that," Gerard said. "But there is a self-centered nature to their lives. A child does not have to be the catalyst for a person to leave the shelter of their world—it could be volunteer work, it could be a certain vocation, it could be a number of things. But you, Maura. Investing their time in you—even if it was admittedly not much when you were a child—helped that couple to grow. It helped them see outside themselves. Their life is not as rich without you in it."

"Can I see them?"

"We would have to cross the ocean for that. They haven't been stateside in over twenty years. Let's focus on one thing at a time and get to Angela, shall we? So!" He clapped his hands together once. "Let us consider the fallout. You gave Angela a beautiful home where she does not have to pay rent. You welcomed her busybody tendencies; you let her be a mother. You gave her a safe, warm, place to go home to at night. That is a tremendous gift you gave her, Maura. One that nobody else has had either the heart, or the heart _and _necessary means, to fulfill in your absence. So here we are."

For the first time, Maura noticed where they were: a neighborhood she had only ever visited by ducking under crime scene tape. A couple of teenagers leered at her as they passed; there was a mix of smells fighting for attention, none of which were even remotely pleasant. The buildings they passed looked as though they might have been built sixty years ago and not refurbished at all since. She and Gerard came to a stop outside the most deteriorated building, and a lump rose in her throat.

"No," she said in a thick voice, shaking her head. "No."

"Granted, it's not ideal," Gerard said. "But Angela has the salary of a cook working at the BPD café. Times are tough, Maura. She's applied for several second jobs, but with no recent practical work experience, she's not had any luck. Incidentally, do you recognize where we are?"

"Um…"

"This is one of the areas that once greatly benefitted from a wonderful organization with a terrible acronym," Gerard said. Maura looked lost. "P.U.K.E. sound familiar?"

"Professionals for Underprivileged Kids of Excellence? I'm on the—I _was _on the board."

Gerard offered a small salute. "Yes, you were. I know a lot of your money was tied into that charity's fund, and you did great things with it. Soup kitchen, volunteer programs, after-school activities? Not here anymore."

"That is ridiculous. I'm not the only person who was on those boards—"

"—but your passion changed a lot of minds, whether you know that or not. Now I don't at all admire Patrick Doyle, but I think you inherited some of his hard-headedness and determination, Maura. And you certainly inherited Hope's charitable character. With that combination, you were a mighty force to be reckoned with when it came to stingy officials. Those funds aren't handled now the way they ought to be."

Maura was shaking her head again, feeling nauseous. "I can't—I… one thing at a time, Gerard, like you said."

"Back to Angela?"

"I can't believe nobody would help her."

"As I told you, nobody else had the heart or means."

"What about Lieutenant Cavanaugh? He _adores _Angela. I can't believe he would just stand by and let her live in squalor like this!"

"Oh, well. Cavanaugh doesn't live in Boston anymore," Gerard said with a shrug. "And he absolutely _loathes _the name Rizzoli."

Maura gaped at him. "That—that's impossible! He—he and Angela are in a serious relationship, and he esteems Jane like she was his own daughter! And just last week, I saw him decorate Frankie for saving half the drug unit in—oh, stop!" she cried when Gerard just shook his head.

"Cavanaugh has a special hatred reserved for Frankie."

"Impossible," Maura balked again.

"Nothing is impossible," Gerard said seriously. But then suddenly he laughed, and even though Maura continued to stare at him incredulously, he couldn't bring himself to stop. "That reminds me of quite a good joke I heard once, though: anyone who ever says 'nothing is impossible' has never tried to slam a revolving door!" He kept chuckling, but Maura's stony glare quickly sobered him up. "I apologize. None of this is a laughing matter. Where was I?"

"Lieutenant Cavanaugh."

"Oh, yes. That _was _tragic," Gerard said. "Do you remember convincing Jane Rizzoli to join you in the Boston Marathon in 2010?"

"Yes," she said, barely repressing a shiver. The memory of the stress of that day still haunted her.

"Well, as I'm sure you recall, Jane only attended because you asked her to. So in the reality where we currently reside, Jane was not there. She wasn't on duty that day, either. You two were not the first to spot a murdered runner, and there was a panic. Mass panic. All those people, right in the middle of running the race? Dozens of lives were lost in the attempt to evacuate—an attempt engineered and encouraged by Cavanaugh. Now, you know government officials: they're always looking to pass the buck, and although they were the ones responsible for agreeing to the evacuation plan and putting into place, they passed the buck to Cavanaugh."

"What's that got to do with Frankie?"

"Frankie was on duty at the race, remember? He was a scared, rookie beat cop. Didn't think it through like Jane did. When he made the call, he brought the issue to Cavanaugh's attention, and said he thought an evacuation would be best. A tip he slipped led to Boston demanding that Cavanaugh lose his job."

Maura looked disoriented. Her footing was shaky as she reached for the small list of names by the complex door, like this was a dream and her hand would go right through the solid wall. Her fingers traced over Angela's name, the lettering bumping against her like a small series of road blocks. "Surreal" did not begin to describe this feeling.

"I want to see her," she said softly.

"I understand. But I must remind you, Maura: she will not recognize you. She will not know you. And she is not the woman you have grown to love and know as another mother."

Maura nodded. "Is she home?"

"Gracious, I'm sure I don't know!" Gerard said. He swung open the door and held it for her. "Let's find out."

They climbed up five flights of dingy stairs before reaching Angela's floor, and Gerard silently hung by the staircase. Maura tried to prepare herself as she walked down the hall, but wasn't even sure _what _to prepare herself for. She couldn't wrap her head around the idea of a different Angela Rizzoli: that woman had been one of the only constants Maura knew. Her attitude and demeanor never seemed to change. Maura couldn't deny feeling a little afraid—fear of the unknown—as she knocked delicately at the door. No answer. She knocked harder, and her heart flew up in her throat when she heard footsteps coming to the door.

"Can I help you?" grumbled a rough and unwelcoming voice.

Maura couldn't speak.

Even at Angela's most dejected, Maura had never seen her looking like this: so tired, so upset, so impatient without even saying a word. She looked considerably older than Maura remembered her being, aged by noticeably graying hair (who could afford getting it colored?) and dark circles under her eyes that looked permanent, not the result of one bad night's sleep. The eyes Maura was so accustomed to being warm and inviting were anything but, viewing Maura with suspicion. This wasn't particularly surprising, given that Angela was looking at a stranger whose mouth had fallen open in unflattering surprise.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The questions were practically spat out, Angela's voice coarse and irritated. It was so jarring that even though Maura's mouth opened, no words were coming out. Angela shot more paranoid questions at her: "You from management? We got rid of the hot plates last week. …what? Haven't you got anything to say for yourself? You one of Laura's friends, or Annie's? What?! Can't you speak for yourself?"

"I-I—my name is Maura Isles."

Nothing. Not a shred of recognition. "Who? Are you selling something? No solicitors."

Maura blocked the door when Angela tried to shut it. "Wait, please! Angela, I—"

"How do you know my name?"

"I—I know you, I know your family!" Maura implored, already blinking back tears. She was so focused on Angela—on search her face for even the smallest indication of the woman she once knew—that she didn't see Gerard in the corner of her eye, shaking his head. "I—"

"What d'you mean you know my family? How? Who do you know?"

"A-all of them. I've been close to the Rizzoli's for years. Except Frank, recently, of course."

Angela smirked. "Of course."

She opened the door a little wider, but only to get a better look at Maura, not with the intention of inviting her in. Arms were crossed as she leaned in the frame, purposefully taking up a lot of space, but Maura was still able to get a glimpse inside the apartment. It was relatively nicely decorated (if cheaply), but not cleanly kept. It seemed Angela and her roommates weren't accustomed to having company. After a few moments, Maura realized Angela was looking as studiously at her as Maura was scrutinizing the apartment.

"You one of Tommy's ex-con pals?"

Maura looked down at herself and quickly realized Angela hadn't seen her in one of her typical, put-together ensembles: her hair was just in a ponytail, the only makeup she had on was concealer, and she wore sneakers and sweats under a casual jacket. (She had, after all, started this morning with the intent to jog.) In a different time and place, she might have lectured Angela on the impoliteness of leaping to such conclusions based on appearance alone.

She tried to sound calm. "I am not an ex-con, but I do consider Tommy a good friend."

"Yeah? When did you see him last?"

"Uh—last weekend, at his apartment. He—"

"That's a lie!" Angela snarled. "He's been locked up for the last year and a half, and he hasn't been allowed visitors since he got in an altercation last week!" Without allowing Maura another word, Angela slammed the door shut. "Don't come back here!" she yelled through it. "I've got enough on my plate right now without crazy people trying to barge their way in at this ungodly hour!"

Maura fell back in the hallway, shaking. Gerard finally walked over, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. When she turned her eyes to him, she looked as though she had just seen a ghost.

"She wouldn't even let me in," Maura said weakly. "Angela Rizzoli didn't let me in! I've seen her sneak Stanley's food to homeless people by BPD. She'd give the shirt off her back for—she… she never gets down!"

"You know, Angela is only human," Gerard reminded her in his usual, comforting voice. "I'm sure most people who know you wouldn't think you could've ever been driven to the point you were this morning." He sighed deeply, tightening his grip on Maura's shoulder when she looked ready to sob. "Frightening, isn't it? How much of an effect it can have on you when an avalanche of misfortune comes your way, and none of your usual allies can fight."

Maura couldn't remember the last time she'd actually tasted bile in her throat like this. Putting a hand to her mouth, she hurried for the steps. She couldn't stay in this environment a second longer, and her desperation to get away let her easily outstrip Gerard.

Somehow, though, he was easily able to locate her. Maura had gone several blocks, trying to get away and also trying to find someone who would see her face and smile in recognition. But as she leaned against the outer wall of a Starbucks, Gerard was the only one who struck up a conversation with her.

"I did warn you," he said.

Maura hardly knew where to begin. "How does my absence put Tommy in prison?"

"Mind if I smoke?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Very well," Gerard said amiably. "Let's walk, and we can discuss Tommy."

Thinking that a walk might help her at least focus on something, Maura followed him. "All right. So?"

"As you may recall, when Tommy finally got out of prison, he would've been in violation of his probation without a permanent address. You put him up without a second thought. Now without your kindness, he moved in with Jane instead, because Angela still hadn't settled on a place. Jane felt obligated to help out, see, but it didn't last too long."

"Why not? She loved Tommy. She wanted to help him."

He shrugged. "She didn't trust him. You were instrumental in engineering that faith and trust in her. You believed in Tommy, you challenged him in ways that Jane and Angela do not, respectively. He was staying on a friend's couch and was on the verge of getting his own place when he was thrown in the clinker. Guilt by association. Pulled in to a bank job by an old ex-con buddy. At least, that's how it looked to the Feds and the cops—including Jane."

"But I—_we_—proved his innocence!"

"_You_, Maura. You proved his innocence. Homicide is good, but they're not always as efficient without you."

_"God damn it to hell, Pike, you are on my __last nerve__. You are completely incompetent!"_

_ Pike straightened up to his full height, giving him a couple of inches on Jane. "You should watch your tone, Detective Rizzoli. If you want results, it might be best __not__ to raise your voice at the medical examiner."_

_ "__Interim__ medical examiner," Jane reminded him. "Personally, I'm counting down the days until our new M.E. settles in. Then we might actually be able to solve some goddam cases!" _

_ "If you'll look at mine and Agent Farrell's findings, you'll see that we already __have__ solved this case," Pike said, his voice sour as his face as he passed a folder over to Jane. He flinched at the terse manner with which she took it. "It's time to face the music, Detective. Your brother is guilty. Once a con, always a con." _

_ "What about the paint, though?" Jane asked, a hint of vulnerability slipping into her tone._

_ "Like I said earlier. It is __impossible__ to determine the exact type of red paint that was," Pike sniffed. "There are literally hundreds of different varieties from dozens of different stores in the area." _

_ "Fine," Jane growled. She grabbed him by the lapel and yanked him in the direction of the elevators. "You're gonna come upstairs and take my mother through each of your findings one by one, because I'm sure as hell not gonna be the one who tells her that her precious baby boy is going back to prison_."

Gerard rounded out the story by telling Maura, "You softened Jane's heart towards her brother. When he plead innocence to her, she was able to believe in him. When his case came up, without your influence, the seeds of doubt were already deeply planted within her. All it took was the work of a medical examiner who wasn't willing to go the extra mile that you were, and she was fully convinced of his guilt. Everybody was. Tommy was sent back to prison an innocent man."

"That's—then that's all on Dr. Pike!" Maura insisted. "It's his fault for not being thorough! Please tell me he isn't still at BPD."

"No, he was ultimately replaced by a Dr. Potter. Very hardworking if unpleasant fellow." They had stopped walking, and Maura realized Gerard had brought her to BPD. He extended his hand to her. "Shall we go inside?"


	3. BPD

**A/N**: Hey all - happy December! Now it's finally the proper season for this story. Thank you for the follows, favorites, and feedback. Your responses are very valued.

* * *

There was still the familiar hustle and bustle going on at BPD, and while Maura supposed that ought to have been obvious, she was happy to be back in a place that felt familiar. After seeing her own home lived in by strangers and Angela in horrifying housing, the sameness of BPD was a welcome change. Perhaps things in the café were a little hectic, as it was Angela's morning off and Stanley was running it alone. His angry manner was the same, but Maura knew that at least had nothing to do with her lack of existence.

Her lack of existence. This still felt incredibly strange.

_When am I going to wake up?_

Gerard cleared his throat, and Maura noticed Korsak walking down the hall. Frost was a few good footsteps behind him, and it would seem that they hadn't had the intention of going into the café together. But as Korsak turned to step inside, he saw Frost out of the corner of his eye, and held up his hand in greeting.

"Hey there, Frost! Long time no see."

"Sargent! Good morning."

Maura was glad to note that there was no animosity or bitterness in the exchange, but it seemed oddly uncomfortable. Frost had stopped when Korsak addressed him, but when no further attempt at conversation was made, he entered the café without a second thought. Maura edged closer, trying to hear as Korsak stepped behind Frost in line. She eventually had to go all the way into the café to catch what they were saying.

Thinking it would be rude not to talk to Korsak when they were right next to each other, Frost said, "So! Rescue any animals lately?"

"Found a litter of abandoned kittens a couple weeks ago," Korsak answered. "Sent 'em to a shelter."

"Mm."

"You like cats, Frost?"

"I'm allergic, actually."

"So how about if I come across a hairless one someday?" Korsak joked.

Frost had the decency to laugh. "Maybe!"

Standing by the line, Maura couldn't help herself: "Actually, that's a common misconception."

Korsak and Frost turned to look at her, the latter raising his eyebrows. "Sorry?"

Maybe some small part of her hoped that because the men didn't seem as radically changed as Angela, they would be more likely to remember her if she pulled a typical Maura Isles move on them. "Contrary to popular belief, people with cat allergies aren't actually allergic to a cat's hair or fur. They're allergic to proteins in feline saliva, urine, and dander." She took a small breath to steady herself at the confused look that Frost and Korsak exchanged. "Outside cats can bring in pollen, mold, and other allergens on their fur, so they might in _that _way exacerbate preexisting non-cat related allergies, which is what most likely gave way to 'hypoallergenic' breeds and the belief that cat allergies are related to fur."

Once sure that Maura was done, Korsak laughed and little and extended his hand. "Well! Looks like BPD has a new cat expert on their hands! You here to see someone, miss?"

"I'm… I'm, uh…" She looked quickly over her shoulder for Gerard; he was apparently engrossed in conversation with a uniformed cop. "I'm a medical examiner."

"Oh! So…are you here to visit Dr. Potter?"

"Oh, so you've hired another one?" she asked, as Frost ordered a bagel. (Upon receiving it a few moments later, he left without another word to Maura or Korsak.) "I'd heard BPD was looking for—um… I-I thought Dr. Pike was just filling in until you'd… well, I suppose you've already found a replacement, then."

Korsak found it a little funny that the woman who'd just articulated herself so clearly about cat allergies was now so flustered. He quickly gave Stanley his order before turning back to Maura. "Yeah, geez, I'm sorry about that. Potter took the position about a month ago."

"How long did you have to suffer with Pike?"

Korsak laughed, and Maura was relieved to hear that sound was still possible in this world. "You know the man?"

"We've collaborated together in the past, yes."

"Real piece of work, huh? Hey," he said to Stanley, when the man shoved Korsak's (burnt) order towards him. "You and Pike related, Stan?"

"Shove it, old man."

"You're no spring chicken yourself!"

"NEXT!" Stanley said pointedly, looking away from Korsak.

Rolling his eyes, Korsak walked over to the nearest table and made an invitational gesture for Maura to join him. Sitting down, Maura asked, "How do you like working with Dr. Potter?"

"Ack! Man's a bit of a devil, but I'll give him credit where it's due. He knows what's he doing, at least compared to Pike. I used to go down to the morgue all the time, but I pull rank these days," he admitted quietly. "That man likes nothing more than raining on other people's parades, and I don't need anymore of that in my life. I send rookies down there to work with him."

"Rookies? Was that man you were talking to earlier one of them?"

"Who, Frost? Poor kid," Korsak muttered. "Tried his hand at homicide—my department, by the way—and couldn't hack it."

"Couldn't 'hack' it?"

"You know. Had a bit of a weak stomach. And by 'a bit,' I mean this guy couldn't hardly _look _at blood without wanting to heave. He lost his lunch at more crime scenes than any cop I've ever seen. I guess he thinks that was enough of a reason to justify wanting a transfer, but if you ask me, he probably got sick of the jokes going around. Tired of looking like a wimp to the other guys."

Maura raked a hand through her hair, trying to think why her absence had kept Frost from being able to stay in the department he'd worked so hard to get to. Then she remembered. Using her own life as an example, she had patiently taught Frost the concept of immersion therapy. Unlike Crowe or even Korsak and Jane, she hadn't mocked or made a joke of Frost's sensitivity to gruesomeness. She had allowed him a space to grow and overcome. Without her, he had floundered and lost faith in himself. He had caved to embarrassment to the point where he couldn't even fully look his former Sargent in the eye.

And then something else Korsak had just said struck Maura: "Guys?" she asked. "Are there—are there any women on your team?"

"Oh, well yeah," Korsak said casually. "Two, actually. When Frost was with me, it was just Jane, though."

Maura's heart leapt at the name. _Thank God she's still here. She's a cop. She's still doing what she loves_. "Two women in homicide? That's progressive," she said for lack of anything else coming to mind.

Korsak laughed good-naturedly. "I suppose! They sure keep me on my feet, I'll give 'em that. Well, anyhow…" He gulped down the last bite of his muffin and made to stand up, but paused and for a moment grit his teeth, eyes screwed shut.

"Sargent, are you all right?" Maura asked in concern.

"Fine," he said, and after a few moments more, was able to straighten up. "Yes, thank you, I'm okay. Unfortunately, I've got to be getting back to work, but it was nice talking with you, Doctor, uh…?"

Maura extended her hand. "Dr. Maura Isles."

He smiled. "Dr. Isles."

She walked with him to the café door, and before he went past security, she called out to him. Looking curious, he turned back. "I'm sorry, sir, I just had a quick question. The Jane on your team—is it Jane Rizzoli?"

"Yes! You know her?"

"I—I do. Would it be possible for me to see her?"

"She's just on call today, and she hasn't come in. I'm here working on a deposition for a court appearance I've got coming up!"

"Oh. Well, thank you, anyway. Good luck with your court appearance, Sargent."

"Thank you, Doc!"

Gerard's conversation seemed to magically end as soon as Maura walked in his direction, and she led them outside so that they could talk.

"Find out anything useful?" he asked, turning up his collar against the cold.

"Frost is working in another department—but at least he's still working here," Maura said.

"Unhappy with every minute of it," Gerard pointed out.

"Don't assume."

"I never do."

"Well—Korsak is still his same, cheerful self."

"Hopefully he'll be able to stay as such for a long time."

Maura didn't like his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't you notice his shortness of breath at all? I saw him grimace when he got up from the table. Those were chest pains, Maura. You're a doctor; you must have noticed he was having a little trouble," he said, and the guilty way Maura averted her eyes told him she had. "Granted, you weren't his dietician, but you got him more conscious about his food choices. A little of that influence can go a long way."

Deciding not to go down that road any further, Maura said, "I don't suppose you know where Jane is?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he answered, and Maura noted the somberness in his tone that had presented itself. "Ah. But first?"

He gestured down the street, and Maura saw her old lab tech Susie Chang walking towards the department. Without thinking, Maura called out to her, and Susie was startled so badly that she nearly dropped the paper sack of food she'd been holding. In fact her entire demeanor seemed to recall that of a scared rabbit as she looked nervously from Maura to Gerard.

"Do I know you?" she asked warily.

"This is Dr. Maura Isles," Gerard said. "She was up for Dr. Potter's position here at BPD, and we thought we'd just drop in for a visit to see how he was doing."

"Oh, he's fine!" Susie said quickly, almost cutting Gerard off. "H-he's really very good, very smart. Well, of course. Much more in the know than Dr. Pike, that's certainly true." Her rambling gave her away, and Maura also hadn't missed the glimmer of disappointment that had gone through Susie's expression at the thought that someone else other than Potter could have been her boss.

"Is he respectful of your work?" Maura asked quietly.

Susie's mouth fell open, and she looked at Gerard, who simply shrugged at her. "He… well, yes…"

"I'm sorry. What I mean is, is he respectful of you?"

Clutching her breakfast a little closer to her, Susie said, "Like I told you, he's fine. Completely fine. Working at BPD is a dream come true for me, and no matter … well, I'd better get in to work." Shooting them one more suspicious look, Susie ducked around Maura and hurried up the steps leading to BPD.

"Gracious! I haven't seen her that flustered since the last time Jane… well, spoke to her," Maura admitted.

Gerard started walking, and Maura fell into step beside him. "Yes, well, good old Dr. Potter makes Jane look like a regular Pollyanna on her worse days. He may be a competent medical examiner, but he is constantly belittling his staff. Susie was just that nervous when she began working for you, Maura, remember? But in time, you eased her concerns, and you encouraged her. You made her feel like she was making a contribution. You were her hero, you know."

"No I wasn't," Maura said as a reflex. "How could I be? How could… why?"

"Why?" Gerard laughed. "You are a kind soul, Maura, and incredibly intelligent. You're a woman at the top of her field who got there without stepping on toes or disparaging others. Why _wouldn't _she—or anyone—look up to you?" Rather than answer, when they reached the corner, Maura turned and looked at BPD over her shoulder. She barely registered Gerard's words when he patiently observed, "Strange, isn't it? One person's life touches so many other lives. When she isn't around, she leaves an awful hole, doesn't she?"

The light changed, and he had to nudge Maura to get her attention to cross. Staring at the ground with her hands jammed stiffly into her pockets, Maura said, "I really don't think it's your place to make calls like that."

"I am merely presenting you with evidence, Maura."

They walked in silence for a minute or two, Maura too overwhelmed with thoughts to pay attention to the direction they were going. She wasn't even sure how far they had gone when Gerard came to a stop and turned, and Maura bumped into him. She followed his gaze and saw that they were outside of a cemetery.

"Why are we here?" she asked abruptly.

"You said you wanted to see Jane."

"She isn't here!" Maura insisted harshly. "Korsak—Korsak _told _me she's working on his team!"

"You didn't let me finish," he said in his ever-patient voice. "Jane is not a permanent resident. She's only visiting, on the other side of the hill there."

He pointed, and Maura couldn't bring herself to ask who Jane had come to see. Instead she walked steadfastly inside the cemetery gates, with Gerard following, hands clasped behind his back.


	4. Siblings

**A/N**: Hey guys - sorry I haven't updated this for a while! The end of the semester got pretty busy, and my winter break has been kinda busy (but the good kind!) as well. I'm definitely hoping to finish this by New Year's, but if not, it will definitely be done by January!

* * *

Maura found herself unable to move.

She and Gerard had walked inside the graveyard, and there, on just the other side of the first hill was Jane. Kneeling by a tombstone, flowers in hand. Maura caught sight of her and couldn't take another step for her nerves.

Firstly, she didn't like graveyards. On some level she understood this was odd, as her vocation involved working on dead people, and it was just death alone that kept many from wanting to visit places like this. But on her autopsy tables, bodies spoke to her. Maura was able to speak _for _them. Buried beneath the ground, there was nothing left for anyone but sad words, two-sentence summations of their lives inscribed on stone. There was nothing to be done anymore—no secrets to be unfurled, no help to be found or given. All was said, all was finished, flowers came to wilt.

But mostly what kept Maura back was the terror zipping through her at the prospect of talking to Jane. Being snapped at by Angela had been hurtful. Being largely ignored by Frost and not being recognized by Korsak or Susie had been hard. The prospect of not knowing at all what Jane's reaction to her would be like was utterly petrifying.

Fear of the unknown had never stopped Maura before. In fact, it had been a big factor in what kept her going. Exploration of mysteries, the quest to get answers and information? That was what had driven her towards science in the first place. No matter how grisly or altogether unpleasant the results would be, she had always been eager to make the unknown known. But not knowing who Jane would be, who to expect? That wasn't something she was eager to solve.

And now she watched as Jane got to her feet and walked away in the opposite direction.

"There's another entrance that way," Gerard said when Maura turned to look at him in alarm. "Don't worry. She's not visiting anyone else here."

He was leaving the ball in her court, and that made her nervous. It was up to her whether they turned and left, whether they followed Jane, or whether they walked up to see who she'd been visiting. Well, of course Gerard already knew …he seemed to know everything. Maura supposed she could just ask him, but that didn't seem the proper way to go about it. She needed to get back some of her courage. Without the pressure of having to talk to Jane, it was marginally easier to move forward.

She reached the tombstone Jane had just left with a bouquet of winter roses lying beside it. Maura blinked and looked away, tears filling her eyes instantly.

"This is wrong," she said, gesturing furiously to the marker as Gerard walked up.

"I'm afraid it's not," he said sadly.

"Frankie Rizzoli is not dead!"

"He is, Maura."

"He's alive! Last week I was at a medal ceremony where he was getting a commendation for saving half the men in his unit from—"

"All of those men died, Maura. Frankie wasn't there to save them, because _you _weren't there to save Frankie."

The realization came slamming into her so hard that Maura nearly fell where she stood. She stumbled and, reaching blindly behind her, grabbed hold of Frankie's tombstone to stay on her feet.

It was true. She had saved his life. She remembered being so frightened that nothing she did would help, that it would only cause him more pain and merely prolong the inevitable. But then she'd been so proud of herself and Jane for keeping it together under stress, for being able to keep him going. Of all she and the Rizzoli's had done for each other, saving Frankie's life never really came up, perhaps because it was the sort of incident where gratitude went without saying. And maybe Maura had never thought about it because as soon as she'd known they were going to be rescued, she'd run to find Jane and saw her shooting herself.

Time had stopped when she'd seen Jane's body fall. It was one memory out of very few that she tried to repress.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed as she stood there thinking this over, and her knees buckled when she looked down to see Frankie's name on that tombstone again. Gerard just stood there, hands in his coat pockets, an expression of utter sympathy on his calm, collected face.

"You see, Maura?" he said quietly. "You've really had a wonderful life. You've done wonderful things with it. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to just throw it away?"

"Stop," Maura said shortly. "Look, I don't know who you are or how you know the things you do, or how—how you're doing this, but I don't…" She straightened up, and cut a harsh line in the air between them with an angry hand. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

Gerard nodded, although Maura was looking away and didn't see it. "I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh, like hell you didn't!"

"Hm. I suppose you're right, I did." Maura glanced at him, surprised to see him admit it so readily. "A shock for a shock, I suppose."

"I'm leaving," Maura said, her face deadly serious. "And I do not want you to follow me, understand? Leave me alone and go—go ruin somebody else's life!"

As she stalked away, Gerard bit back the many ways he felt he could have responded to that accusation. He knew her attitude was probably justified, even though he wasn't at all trying to ruin anybody's life. He just wanted her to see how ruined the lives of others would be if she hadn't ever been there for them.

Granted, Frankie's was an extreme example. Gerard gripped the top of the tombstone tightly as he tried not to think of how much the young man's death had made the Rizzoli family dynamic even worse. He'd have ended this all right then and there if he hadn't strongly felt that Maura still had some thinking to do. She most definitely had to see Jane.

He knew as she was walking, she was already trying to rationalize Frankie's death away. There should have been someone else there to help. Jane, in her determination, would should have come up with a solution. She'd have gotten him out of there sooner.

Saving a life was an extraordinary thing, and Maura's medical knowledge had done it more than once. To Maura, it was unremarkable. Anyone with a certain level of medical training could have done what she did. Benignly neglected by her adoptive parents, consistently lied to and ignored by her birth parents, and never growing up with friends, Maura had not ever learned to value her individuality. The extremes of Angela's living situation, of Tommy's wrongful imprisonment, of Frankie's untimely death: all horrible, there was no question of that.

But again, Maura was frightened of letting herself believe that all those had to do with her absence. And she loathed how calmly Gerard showed and explained these things.

He had an idea that whether it was a conscious choice or not, Maura was going to end up seeing Jane. And he hoped very much that it would help Maura see how much of a difference her friendship made. Not just her money. Not just her medical expertise. Not just her proficiency at work. She. Herself.

Maura had gotten several blocks away from the graveyard before she realized she didn't know where she was going. She couldn't very well go home—she didn't have one anymore. She couldn't go meditate in her office. It didn't belong to her anymore.

Snow was falling again, and as people hurried past her to get to their cars or buildings, yanking up their hoods or pulling out umbrellas, Maura stopped still. She leaned against a light post, closing her eyes and folding her arms against the cold, trying to breathe deep. She was still trying to convince herself that this was a psychotic episode brought on by recent traumatic events. Or a dream. No, a nightmare.

But she could feel the sting of snowflakes landing on her raw-feeling skin. Her eyes were still watery, and tears were leading freezing tracks down her cheeks. It wasn't until she realized her teeth were chattering and a passing man asked if she was all right that Maura decided to get moving again.

Right ahead of her was The Dirty Robber. She wondered what the odds were that without her encouragement, it had still become a more health-friendly establishment. Not very high, probably. She told herself she was going inside just to verify that, at the same time thinking that was a terrible idea as there was a chance Jane might be inside. What could she even say to her? Jane had a tendency to be prickly towards strangers, and as she'd just come from visiting her little brother's grove, that was likely to put her in all the more sour a mood.

Or maybe Maura was overreacting and Jane wouldn't be there at all. It was only the afternoon, and Korsak had said she was on call, hadn't he? She wouldn't be here drinking, then… not the Jane Rizzoli Maura knew.

But it only took one good look for Maura to realize that this was not the Jane Rizzoli she knew.

She had stepped inside The Dirty Robber, and found it full of its usual mix of loud, social customers. Nobody paid her any attention as she stood a few feet from the door, staring at her best friend.

Jane was seated at the far end of the bar, gloomily staring at an untouched glass of beer. Her posture was hopelessly slumped without Maura there to be a constant reminder to keep her back straight. She was resting her cheek on her fist, and appeared very much as though she might have dropped her head to the bar if her hand wasn't keeping it held up. Her hair was limp and a permanent frown seemed etched into her countenance—and not the one she wore so often at work, in confusion or frustration with a case. There was a somberness to this one Maura had never seen before.

But nothing was worse than those eyes. Even from the other side of the bar (which Maura had slowly been approaching), she could tell they were dead, not a glint of life within them. Jane was here to forget something, and she was here to not be seen.

A very cocky-looking man walked over to her, and Jane's expression turned from morose to angry in a flash. Before he had the chance to so much as introduce himself, Jane held up her fist, and for a moment Maura thought she was threatening to punch him. But then she noticed a wedding ring, as did the man, who laughed, held his hands up, and walked away. Jane sourly turned her attention back to her glass, and downed about half of it in one gulp.

Maura couldn't stay away any longer. She walked towards Jane, and when the bartender noticed where she was headed, he tried to catch her eye and shake his head. Ignoring him, Maura took the stool directly next to Jane's.

Jane looked over at her and Maura felt something inside of her die, being on the receiving end of that horrible glare. Mostly Jane was annoyed that a total stranger had felt the need to sit right next to her when there were plenty of open stools available. Maura tapped her fingers restlessly on the bar, knowing it was going to be up to her to start a conversation and having no idea where to start. Jane eventually looked back at her drink, downing some more as she just tried to ignore this woman.

"What're you drinking?" Maura finally asked.

"What d'you care?" Jane mumbled. Maura didn't have a good answer for that, and when Jane had finished the last of her beer, she set down the glass and said, "Wait a minute. You look familiar." Before Maura dared get her hopes up, Jane's expression softened slightly and said, "Did I see you in the graveyard just now?"

Maura tried to mask her disappointment, shifting needlessly. "Yes, I was there a few minutes ago. I was visiting a… a friend."

"Were they old, at least?"

"No. No, he was quite young."

"Oh. Sorry to hear it."

"I'm sorry to report it."

"I was… I was there too, at the graveyard. Well, I mean… of course I was, if I saw you there."

Maura waited for her to elaborate, but it was in vain. Silence loomed between them, and then Jane caught Murray's eye and gestured for another drink.

"Ought you to do that?" Maura blurted.

Jane raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I'm…" Maura closed her eyes and tried to remind herself it wasn't her place to interfere here. "Sorry. Forget I said anything." She opened her eyes to see that Jane still looked uncomfortable at her proximity, but she couldn't bring herself to get up and leave. "I'm—I was just thinking I'd like t-to talk to you. Can I buy you that drink?"

Jane smiled ruefully. "Do I gotta show _you_ this, too?" she asked, waving the hand with her wedding ring on it.

"I wasn't—please don't misconstrue my intent; I wasn't attempting to be flirtatious."

"Nothin' to be embarrassed about," Jane said with a shrug. "I get it a lot from other women. Must be the suit, huh?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Maura said, starting to blush.

Attempting to force patience into her tone, Jane said, "If you're not trying to hit on me, what do you want to buy me a drink for?"

"I just…I just thought…I thought you looked sad," Maura finally got out.

"Nice call," Jane snorted.

"And I thought it might behoove you to have someone to talk to."

"Are you a shrink?"

"No, although I am a doctor."

"Aha."

"Have you ever heard of Kenneth Gergen?"

"No…"

"He's a psychologist who came up with the phenomenon of 'microwave relationships.' In theory, it's the notion that both people involved command intense heat for the immediate provision of nourishment."

"Um…I told you already I'm not interested in a hook-up."

"It doesn't need to relate only to sexual intercourse," Maura said, and Jane cringed at the terminology. "It can refer to anything brief and powerful, even a conversation, that never needs to be mentioned again. The point is getting something off your chest to a stranger. Someone who isn't intimately tied to your affairs, who have no one to gossip to about you."

Jane arched an eyebrow, but at least she looked slightly amused. "You performing some sort of social experiment, doc?"

"I told you, I'm not that kind of doctor."

"This is something for _you, _then. Not me."

"I would find it helpful, yes."

Jane took a good look at her, noting that she did look pretty sad. Hell, she _must _be to come up to a stranger and strike up a conversation like this. Normally this kind of behavior would send Jane out the door, but something about this woman intrigued her. No, "intrigued" was too strong a word. She simply didn't grate on Jane the way Jane would've expected her to.

"Well doc," she said, as Murray dropped off a drink. "If you're buying, I'm listening."


	5. Jane

"So what's your deal? Haven't you got any friends?"

Maura had led the way to a booth in the corner of The Dirty Robber, and Jane—not entirely sober—had started right in.

"Me?"

"Yeah, doc. You. Why you gotta come trolling around in this bar for someone to talk to? Haven't you got some fancy friends, or is that the trouble? Like you said—you need to unload on someone who's not gonna go gossiping to everyone?"

Maura bit her lip, restlessly swirling the straw in her ginger ale. "I've got one friend."

"One?"

"Yes. I used to, at least."

Jane took a messy sip of her drink, and Maura didn't even cringe when she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "She ditch ya?"

Maura shrugged. "She just stopped being there for me the way she used to. I used to tell her everything. I felt…I felt _safe _talking to her." She kept her gaze intently on Jane's face, but Jane's eyes didn't return the favor for too many seconds at a time. No doubt that talking like this to a stranger was still making her a little uncomfortable, but Maura also knew that Jane—like many people—had trouble focusing her attention on one thing when she was buzzed. Jane's fingers were drumming on the table, not quite as though she were bored, but definitely as though she were at least anxious.

"Must be nice. Or must've been, anyway."

When Jane didn't go on, Maura shrugged and continued, "My father—my biological father—is in prison, and my biological mother won't speak to me. Even though I just donated a kidney to her daughter and saved her life." Jane just looked confused at that. "And my parents, the ones who adopted me and gave me a home, they don't really talk to me. They never did."

"How come they went to the trouble of adopting you, then?"

"It's complicated."

"Life's complicated," Jane said with a shrug of her own.

Silence fell between them, and Maura took the opportunity for more observation. Jane's movements were jerky, and there were dark circles under her eyes. A permanent frown seemed etched into her face, complete with a brow that seemed to be constantly furrowed and once again those eyes that looked so utterly devoid of hope. Unless Maura was mistaken, Jane looked a little thinner than usual—alarming, considering she was already slender.

"How about a boyfriend?" Jane asked abruptly, pulling Maura out of her hungry reverie. "Husband? Partner, whatever?"

"No."

"Huh. Me neither." Jane finished her glass, then realized Maura was staring questioningly at her wedding ring. "Oh yeah," she muttered. She lifted her hand and with faux daintiness, showed the ring to Maura. "Ain't it just beautiful? I guess if you want to get technical about it, I've got a husband somewhere."

Maura felt her heart plummet down into her stomach. _Not Casey_. "You've got one 'somewhere'?"

"Dunno where he is. Oh, not that he ran off or anything. He's in the military. Big ole army man. Kind of a girl, though."

"A girl."

"Yeah. A pussy. A real mush when it comes to romance," Jane grumbled, and her tone indicated this was the least respectable thing a man could be or do. "He wanted to get all domestic and crap."

"So must you, at least at one point," Maura surmised.

Jane grimaced, annoyed by Maura's logic. "I guess. It felt nice to feel like somebody cared for once. Like, really actually cared. Casey was the only person who ever tried really talking to me."

"What about your own family?" Maura prompted her.

"Family's just a word. Like yours." She shrugged, gripping her empty glass tightly with both hands and staring down into it, searching for a drop she might've missed. "It's like someone dropped an atom bomb in our house and there weren't any survivors. I mean we all survived separately, but we couldn't all come back together. My dad up and left with some blonde bimbo. My youngest brother turned out to be a crook, or… he says he didn't do nothin', but he's in prison anyhow. My mother hates my guts for never helping him. How's that for a nice family story, huh, doc?"

Maura was shaking her head. It felt too hard to believe that the tight-knit Rizzoli clan could have come to this. _Just because I wasn't here? _

"I was pissed at Tommy, and when I finally started writing him, he wouldn't write back," Jane mumbled, now resting her chin on her arms on the table. "Ma and I don't talk anymore. Frankie and I… we never really talked about stuff to begin with. We had fun together but we never talked anything serious, you know?"

"What about your father?"

"Oh, nobody in the family talks to him anymore. Walked out on us."

"I'm sorry."

Jane tried to shrug. "Mmph. You got any siblings?"

"No."

For years, that had been the honest truth so far as Maura knew, and lately she was still getting accustomed to the fact that she _did _have a sibling. A half-sibling, anyway. A slight panic grew on her as she wondered whether Cailin had been able to find a kidney donor in this world where Maura did not exist. Had one been gotten in time? Had the surgery been successful? Or, if she'd spent more time looking around the graveyard, might she have found Cailin's own tombstone there? Her heart was beating wildly in anxiety, not lessened much when Jane spoke up again.

"I had another brother. That's who I was visiting in the graveyard before."

Her voice was void of any emotion, and while Maura certainly would've been upset if Jane started crying, somehow the lack of tears was even _more _upsetting. Maybe because it was unsettling, and exactly the opposite of what Maura expected. Frankie had been gone for three years now. How many times had Jane had to explain what happened? How could she get through this now so flatly? How could she be so matter-of-fact? As she went on, she sounded more like she was a kid reciting some distant facts for a class presentation than she did a grieving relative.

"We worked at BPD together. He got shot. One of our own planned this whole thing, and Frankie got caught in the crossfire. I tried to save him, but even his bulletproof vest couldn't do it. And I didn't know what I was doing, and we were still stuck in the department, like hostages. Everyone else had evacuated in time. It was just me and him and the… the bad guys. I even let myself get taken out… get used as a human shield for one of these guys 'cause I thought I could maybe help get some of our people back in there and save him, but I was too late. There was nothing. Nothing I could do. We got him to the hospital and I was in the hospital too, 'cause I went and shot myself trying to kill this guy …and when I woke up, Ma told me Frankie had been, um… what is it. He was DOA."

Jane looked up at the sound of a loud sniff, and she saw that Maura was shaking with barely-repressed sobs. She sat up, alarmed that she'd reduced this perfect stranger to a blubbering mess: the woman's eyes were swimming with tears, and Jane wasn't sure why or how that was possible when _she _was the one who had lost a sibling.

"Um…it's okay," she said uneasily, though Maura continued to shake her head. "He's been gone about three years now. I don't, um… you… you don't have to cry like that. It's not like it's your fault. You didn't know the guy."

_I want to wake up. I want to stop this. Please, Gerard, stop this! _

It took a while for Maura to compose herself, as she was forced to do alone when Jane didn't try to comfort her. And why should she? For all Jane knew, Maura was someone she'd only met five minutes ago. Even lately in a time and place where Maura existed, Jane's demonstrations of affection had been coming less and less. Why should Maura be surprised that Jane was willing to uncomfortably let her cry it out on her own here?

"Um…I should maybe go," Jane said, starting to get up.

"No, please don't!" Maura gasped.

She impulsively reached for one of Jane's hands, and Jane withdrew quickly. Maura was staring at the scar on the back of her palm, and a thousand questions sprung to mind about Hoyt. They were questions she didn't dare ask, and Jane sensed that, pulling her hands down into her lap and out of sight.

"If I stay," she said. "I'm not gonna talk about what happened there."

It was not up for debate, and if she was honest with herself, Maura didn't want it to be. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it.

And she couldn't have.

Without someone there who she loved more than her own life, Jane had almost been killed by Hoyt in his room in the hospital ward. She'd been too confident for back-up and wanted to handle this on her own, anyway. She didn't need Riley or Korsak and the medical examiner certainly hadn't offered to come along for moral support. And oh, how disappointed Hoyt had been that there was nobody to torture in front of Jane, or to see her be tortured. He'd heard her husband, the big war hero, was in town. He'd so been hoping to meet the man.

And so he did when Casey came bursting into the room, furious that Jane had been allowed to see Hoyt alone. Rightly so, he learned, as Korsak and Riley came in shooting behind him—they got the apprentice, and Casey got Hoyt.

Jane got nothing but a residual emptiness. A constant reminder of her own failure. A consistent feeling that this only confirmed Casey's belief that she needed someone to take care of her. A realization that even after all he'd been through, he didn't see the need for her to talk to someone about her post-traumatic stress. He was enough. When he was home, he was enough. If he wasn't, then he wasn't doing his job right as her husband. As a man.

She knew he saw her as weak. Flawed. And part of her couldn't help wondering if he liked her that way, because he thought it meant she needed him.

"I don't," she said, suddenly breaking the silence.

Maura was wiping away the last of her tears. "What?"

It was only then Jane realized she'd been reliving her last encounter with Hoyt in silence; of course this woman didn't know what she was talking about. "I don't like him. I don't like being married." She shifted, trying to get comfortable, knowing it was impossible. "When I was a kid, and I was going through that phase where boys and girls think girls and boys are gross, I told my Ma I didn't ever wanna get married. And she said I would one day, because marriage meant getting to live with your best friend all the time. That made it sound okay.

"But then I got older and Casey wasn't my best friend, but like I said, I didn't… I mean he _felt _like a friend, because he always came to see me when he was home. When he wasn't over there. Fighting. And I guess I thought it meant something. It's weird. When I think about it now, it feels obvious that he was always putting himself first. Now whenever he comes home, we spend a lot of time in bed… or he wants to, anyway."

There was no winking or smiling or even a roll of the eyes when she said this. It was the same dispassionate tone she'd used to talk about Frankie, albeit with a dash of annoyance thrown in.

"I think I'd be a lot better off on my own," she mused.

"Do you feel like he ties you down?" Maura asked.

"No, that's not it. It's not like I'm a balloon or something that just wants to get up and be free, and he's holding down the string. If I cut it loose—" She moved two fingers in a scissoring motion. "—I'd still just be the same place I am now. The ground. But at least I'd be there on my own. Now, I'm always like… waiting for something to screw up. I'm waiting for him to say something or do something that's gonna piss me off, and I won't say anything because I don't like talking about stuff. Usually." She squinted at Maura. "You're not so bad. Maybe 'cause I'm a little drunk. And I won't ever see you again. I won't, will I?"

She sounded a little panicked, like she'd want to drop off the face of the planet at the prospect of ever having to see or talk to Maura again. Maura just shook her head, clamping her mouth shut at Jane's noticeable relief.

"Guess it wasn't ever meant to be," Jane said. "Marriage. For me, I mean. I don't think I'm ever gonna find that best friend. I'm too old to make new best friends, aren't I? I mean, I haven't even called someone that since I was… since I was in high school, probably. No. Middle school."

"Middle school?"

"Yeah. My best friend's boobs came in and she dumped me. Ditched me. Believe it or not I wasn't a real easy kid to get close to. I had friends, and I did stuff with 'em on weekends, but there wasn't anyone I ever really wanted to get in deep with. Not serious."

"I know how that feels," Maura whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"It sucks, doesn't it?" She kept going before Maura could get another word in: "I do like Riley a lot, though. My partner. We get drinks and go shooting and play basketball sometimes. She's cool. But everyone thinks we're better friends than we are, probably 'cause we're the only women in homicide. Oh look, there's Jane. There's Riley. They're both chicks. They must be best pals."

"One of the disadvantages of working in a male-dominated profession, I suppose."

"I s'pose. So." Jane hiccupped, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the booth. "Tell me about your friend."

Maura took a breath to try and calm herself. "I hardly know where to start."

"Why're you friends?"

"We worked together. As the saying goes, on paper, you wouldn't think we'd get along. She's very brash and intense and social and heart-on-her-sleeve. I'm usually reserved and like to keep to myself—except when it comes to her. Time could never pass too slowly when I was with her. It didn't matter what we were doing. It didn't even matter if we were watching a game on TV, which I hate but she loves. I'd enjoy just being with her and seeing how excited she got. We could be at a baseball diamond or just walking her dog, it didn't matter to me. I got to be with her and be around her, and that's all I needed to brighten my day."

Jane's eyes were still closed as she folded her arms and sighed. "What made her so special?"

"I don't know, I…"

"Yeah you do, or you'd be bored of her."

"Well… we could talk to each other about things. She had this way of helping me see things weren't dark as they seemed. She made me feel good about myself, and that's not always an easy thing to do… but she never made me feel like a pity project, either. Like I _needed _someone to take care of me. She was just there when I _did _need her. And I think it was mutual. I think she felt like she was safe with me. She lives near family, and she's dated here and there …but whenever she didn't want to be alone, she'd come to me."

"And you liked getting to be that person for her?"

"Yes. I did."

"Did. Hm. You're not friends anymore, you said?"

"No, it's just…things haven't been the same between us lately. I'm still trying to figure out why."

"Is it 'cause you told her?"

"Told her what?"

Jane finally opened her eyes, and Maura thought she saw the hint of a smirk there. "That you're in love with her."

Maura's mouth dropped open, but the truth of the matter was that it would be a lie to deny it. She couldn't pinpoint when exactly it had started, but it was a feeling that had gotten harder to ignore lately. Maybe that's why it hurt all the more than Jane had been being so rude to her as of late. It would be hard enough to take that from a friend, but from Jane…

"You should just tell her," Jane said, and Maura thought she might have a heart attack on the spot. "I mean maybe not just say you love her right away, if you really do. But you should tell her you're upset that she's been distant or whatever."

"I don't need her to be in love with me," Maura said. "I just—I just need her to talk to me again. I just need her friendship again."

It was true: friendship was what Maura was craving now more than anything else.

During one particularly lonesome time in her childhood, Maura had considered running away. Not for attention or other selfish reasons, but because she genuinely thought her parents might be better off without her. They might not even notice, except for the fact that they had fewer things to pay for—fewer clothes, fewer meals and so on. No tuition for boarding school. She'd be doing them a favor. As she'd tried to think where she might go, she was stuck. She didn't want to die, she just simply didn't think her presence was necessary to anyone or anything.

_The sun will keep shining. The rain will come when it needs to. The world will keep spinning on its axis. Night will come at the end of day, and dawn will follow it. _

As she sat there in a grimy bar booth with Jane Rizzoli, she realized the tragedy in leaving everything behind wasn't quantified by such large dimensions. No, it might not matter to the world at large—to physics, to biology, to much of the planet's population—if she were no longer there. But that wasn't the point.

And she acknowledged that certain aspects of her were an asset in impersonal ways: her medical competency, for example. She had helped others in a way most people could not, it was true. That did make her absence noticeable and important in its own very real way.

But it was moments like these that she wanted to live for. A smile tugging at the corner of Jane's mouth. The warmth Maura felt nearly every time they talked. Angela's inviting laugh, Tommy's beautiful mind, Frankie's affability. Korsak's cheerfulness and love for animals. Frost's determination to better himself and be a good friend. Susie's eagerness to please and her hard work. It was startling to see the hole she'd left in these people's lives when they had never known her. Frightening was the only word that seemed appropriate to describe Frankie's death, Tommy's incarceration, Angela's living situation.

And somehow, Jane was the worst of all.

Seeing her so run-down, so unhappy, so alone? It was pain and grief beyond anything Maura had thought possible. It made her physically ache to see Jane in this state. Any jealousy or anger she thought she might've felt towards Casey didn't even exist; that's how singularly focused she was on wishing she could do something to lighten Jane's spirits.

All the time, she was thinking of how grateful she was to the Rizzoli family for taking her in. Giving Angela a home, spending time with Frankie and Tommy, it was all a given. Nothing could properly repay them for their love and support of her. They were everything she had ever hoped for, and more. It had _never _actually occurred to her that Jane might've needed her as much as she needed Jane. Life was so much easier when you let other people in to help you.

"I have to go back."

"Hm?"

Maura looked around, half-expecting to see that Gerard had followed her there. But he was nowhere in sight. "Did you see him?"

"What? Who?"

"A man—sort of tall, with a long coat and an old-fashioned fedora. Probably smoking a cigar by now, because I'm not with him."

"Is… what, is someone following you? Are you okay?"

"I just need to find him."

Maura stood up from the table, and this time it was Jane who clumsily reached for her. "Hey, wait! I don't even know your name."

For the first time since their meeting, Maura smiled. She just couldn't help it. Out of all the horrible things she'd been exposed to today, there was one bright spot, and it was that Jane still wanted to know her.

"It's Maura. Maura Isles."

She let herself hope for a moment that this would be enough, that Jane's memory would now magically kick in and things would be as they were, but that seemed to good to hope for. Jane just nodded, and she sat back down. Maura stayed a moment, and though Jane never quite returned the smile, Maura thought she could see something of a light coming back to her eyes. But the fact that there was no glimmer of recognition hurt Maura more deeply than she'd been prepared for. Jane half-heartedly waved, and Maura raced out the door.

She was not a waste of space.

Gerard was nowhere to be seen, and Maura started running towards her house. He had to be there, he had to be waiting for her. Somehow her lungs and her legs didn't give up on her; they were powerful and impossible to stop, allowing her to outstrip everyone on the snowy sidewalks. Not once did she lose her footing or her breath as she pounded down long blocks and turned tight corners. A burst of disappointment didn't come until she reached her street and didn't see Gerard anywhere. Panic started settling in again. What if he didn't come back? What if she never found him? What if she was stuck in this universe forever, no mercy?

_No. I can't give up_. _Think__, Maura!_

After a few moments, it occurred to her to retrace her steps from early that morning, and go to the spot where Gerard had first met her. That had to be it: go back to where this mess had all started. Things were still quiet and empty out here, the very opposite of the business in town, even if this was usually a well-trafficked spot. The weather must've been keeping people inside, but it was odd: there weren't even any kids out playing in the snow.

Maura yelled wordlessly in frustration when she reached the small bridge where Gerard had first approached her. He wasn't in sight. All around her was nothing but bright white snow, dotted with trees and rocks, but no other people.

"Help me!" she shouted, and she fell to her knees, as if winded all at once from running. She didn't have the energy to stay on her feet anymore. She banged the railing of the bridge, trying to build strength as she admitted the need for help. "Help me, Gerard, please! _Please! _Get me back! Get me back to them—get me back to Jane and her family, please! I want to _live _again!"

For what felt like at least an hour, her sobs were the only sound cutting across the white, imposing landscape. She was physically and emotionally spent, and collapsed into the snow on the bridge. In no time at all her tear tracks felt like frozen rivers, somehow burning her skin, but she couldn't be bothered to try wiping them away. She felt like a frozen, blank slate. Honestly, she had no idea of how much time had actually passed before another noise broke the scene: a car turning onto the street. The engine cut. A door opened and slammed shut again.

That was her name. Someone was calling her name.

It was Jane's voice.

* * *

**A/N**: There were a lot of directions I could've taken that conversation I guess, and while this wasn't the most intensely dramatic, it's what happened. Hope it was okay! And I hope you all have a safe and wonderful New Year - looks like the last chapter for this will be posted in 2014!


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